


Five losers Otabek dated (and the one who was okay) according to Yuri Plisetsky

by rovio



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Friendship, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2018-11-28 05:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11411091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rovio/pseuds/rovio
Summary: Sometimes Otabek has a questionable taste in men.Reallyquestionable.





	1. the idiot

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to the enabling nonnies. You're the best and also the worst.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuri didn't even have to meet this guy to know he's an idiot.

Otabek's phone beeps just as Yuri gets out of the bathroom. Normally he wouldn't give a shit about that, but Otabek's expression changes and catches his attention.

He's _smiling_.

"Is that your new boytoy?" Yuri asks, scrubbing his hair. Maybe he should just cut it and be done with it. That'd stop some of the fucking infuriating Victor comparisons too. "Paging for a booty call?"

Otabek looks up. "He's asking if he can come over. Can I say yes?"

"It's your home, why do you ask me?" Yuri drapes the towel over his shoulders and heads to the kitchenette. He's pretty sure he saw lemon flavored water in the fridge last night. "As long as you don't fuck where I can see, I don't care."

"How gracious of you," Otabek says and taps his phone. "He's just two blocks over, he should be here soon."

Yuri yanks the fridge door open and a blessed cold breeze washes over him. If he'd realized that Almaty and Otabek's flat were this hot in July, he would've come earlier or saved the trip for later. It's like his skin is melting off him and dripping onto the floor.

At least Otabek had the foresight to buy the lemon water, bless his cranky soul. It's Yuri's favorite brand too. He pours a glass for himself and presses it against his naked chest with a sigh.

"Do you want any?"

"Yeah, strawberry, please," Otabek says because he has a god-awful taste.

Strawberries? Good. Strawberry water? So bad that Yuri wants to save Otabek from himself and dump it in the sink. Since he's not a complete asshole, he does fill another glass with the foul potion. The one-room flat is so small that he only needs to take half a dozen steps before he's standing above the couch and Otabek.

Some temptations are too hard to resist. He tilts the glass and Otabek yelps when cold water hits his bare chest.

"Fuck. You. Plisetsky." The doorbell rings and Otabek gets up, glaring daggers at Yuri. "Fuck you with a cactus."

Yuri grins. "Yeah, love you too," which is exactly the wrong thing to say because the door is already open and the guy behind it can definitely hear and see him.

It's also the wrong time to remember that he didn't put on any clothes after his shower. Otabek didn't say anything about that either which, Yuri thinks, is understandable. After years of sharing changing rooms all over the world, he's probably desensitized to the sight of Yuri's dick already.

His boytoy isn't, and he turns on his heels and flees without a word.

"Oh, fuck, no, _wait_ -" Otabek steps into the hallway and then back into his flat. His neighbors are nosy and old, he's said, and running on the streets in his underwear would either kill them with excitement or get him arrested for indecency. "Yuri, _clothes_."

Yuri scrabbles around and throws him a pair of pants and a shirt. It's only after Otabek is out of the door that he realizes the shirt was his own, clearly too big on Otabek and artfully torn on the back to look like someone just couldn't wait to get their hands on the skin underneath.

...Yeah, it isn't going to look so good, is it?

With nothing else to do, Yuri pulls on pants (his own) and a t-shirt (also his own, no excess skin showing anywhere) and sits down to wait. He might die of a heatstroke but if by any chance Otabek convinces the guy to come back, it's better to be dead than naked.

Half an hour later, Otabek returns alone and makes a beeline for the fridge. He grabs a beer and crashes on the couch next to Yuri. Otabek never drinks on weekdays and Yuri's never seen him chug a whole beer can in one go either, so it's bad bordering on disastrous. 

"I take it he didn't listen," Yuri says finally.

"Apparently I've been fucking you behind his back this whole time." Otabek closes his eyes and leans back into a boneless sprawl. The empty beer can hits the rug with a dull thud. "Or maybe since you were fifteen, he couldn't decide."

Yuri wouldn't know the guy from a lamp post, but suddenly he's furious at him because Otabek just wouldn't. That fucking idiot should've known that.

"Good riddance for that bastard then! I can't fucking believe he'd-"

"Yura," Otabek says quietly and Yuri's mouth snaps shut. "I'm gonna appreciate that in a few hours, but not right now."

"Sorry." It's been ages since the silence between them was this uncomfortable, but Yuri's determined to handle it like the fucking adult he is. "Another beer?"

Otabek shakes his head. "Vodka. The bottle's in the cabinet under the sink."

Yuri gets up from the couch and crouches in front of the sink, hoping fervently that Otabek isn't housing any spiders there. His fingers close around the bottle just as Otabek says, "It wasn't your fault. Just in case you were thinking about it."

"I wasn't," Yuri lies and turns around. "Okay, let's get smashed. Then you can tell me what a fucking loser he was, in detail."


	2. the gym rat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Otabek's latest boytoy slash personal trainer is an idiot too.

Yuri rarely hits the gym on a holiday since he gets enough of that shit when he trains at home. He's not aiming for a heavy build anyway so what's the point of torturing himself when he doesn't have to? As long as he doesn't look like a stretched noodle, he's okay.

Better than okay, he thinks when he checks his ass in the changing room mirror. He'd hit that.

"Nice to know that your narcissism is still fine," Otabek says dryly, leaning on the lockers.

Yuri snorts. As if Otabek has any room to talk. He sure as hell didn't get those biceps because they help him to skate better.

"Pot and kettle, Beka, pot and kettle." Yuri turns around and stretches his arms towards the ceiling. Then he rolls his shoulders and says, "Alright, show me what you got."

What Otabek has is a dude in a stupid yellow muscle shirt and shorts so small, Yuri's sure he's flashing people daily. Maybe that's how he got Otabek's attention because as far as Yuri can see, he's just one little fish in a sea of sweaty dudes grunting as they pump iron.

But hey, he's not judging Otabek. Yuri can appreciate oiled muscles too.

"Max," the dude says and tries to crush Yuri's hand in his. "You're kind of weedy, aren't you?"

"Yuri," Yuri says and crushes right back. He doesn't arm wrestle Mila for nothing. "You're kind of thick, aren't you?"

He's not talking about the dude's stocky waist and from the way he narrows his eyes, he knows it. Maybe he's not a completely musclebrain then.

Then he opens his mouth and says, "It's all muscle, baby," and to Yuri's utter and complete horror, flexes and kisses his own bicep. "Just like Beka."

When Yuri turns his horrified eyes to Otabek, his friend at least has the sense to look uncomfortable. Because Yuri was wrong, he was so wrong. Otabek's latest boytoy slash personal trainer is an idiot.

"Just look at him," the idiot says and grabs Otabek's shoulders. Then his hands slide down to fondle Otabek's arms. "Like steel under his skin."

Yuri's used to people getting frisky in public, but usually that's late at night in a club, not in broad fucking daylight. Unless it's Giacometti and his husband, or another pair of stupid husbands, and why is Yuri associated with any of them again?

"He's gotten so much harder under me," Max breathes admiringly and Otabek goes scarlet. It's fine because Yuri's face is suddenly on fire too. He doesn't know where to look. 

And then, like a switch's been flicked, Max suddenly sounds like he's all business, if business would be measuring Otabek's biceps with its creepy fingers. "So, Yuri, are you here to start your journey from _that_ to _this_?"

Otabek clears his throat. "Just running today. He's on a holiday."

"Every journey starts with the first step," Max says and nods. He sounds like a motivational poster and Yuri is, in fact, absolutely sure he's seen those words on a poster on Otabek's wall. "The treadmills are this way."

Yuri follows them across the hall and refuses to look at them. God, he so hopes that Max's hand is still on Otabek's arm and not anywhere lower. From the tittering behind his back, it fucking isn't.

"Okay, I take it you've ran on these before?" At Yuri's nod, Max claps his back. Yuri is absurdly relieved they don't wander anywhere else. He doesn't actually want to break Max's fingers before he finds out how fond of them Otabek really is. "I've got a client waiting for me but if you need help, just ask our Beka here. He's really been around and he can handle my delicate equipment almost like a pro by now."

Otabek closes his eyes and Yuri can fucking feel the anguish pouring out of him.

"See you later, babe," Max says fondly, smacks Otabek's ass and saunters off.

Yuri is totally judging Otabek now.

"Please tell me he has a huge dick. I'm fucking begging you." Nothing else will explain this. Otabek's taste in guys can't be this horrible or Yuri may have to end their friendship. "Because I'm not gonna believe he has the soul of a poet."

"Not a huge dick, no." Otabek rubs his ass and sighs. Kind of dreamily which, ugh, does Yuri really want to know? He regrets asking now. "But he can keep going for a long time. A long, _long_ time."

Yuri realizes they're both now staring at Max the marathon fucker who blows Otabek a kiss before turning back to his client.

"So you're dating him for your sex addiction."

The woman running next to them trips on her feet and almost crashes onto the floor. Yuri fucking knew her headphones were just for show.

"For the last fucking time, I don't have a sex addiction," Otabek hisses and smacks Yuri's ass. It's like he wants to prove that Yuri is right.

Yuri's pretty sure that everyone in the hearing distance is now staring at them and Max and wondering.

* 

"If you don't break up with him, I'm divorcing you," Yuri says later that night when Max goes to get another strawberry milkshake for himself. "Seriously."

"You'd have to marry me first," Otabek points out. He probably thinks he's being very clever.

"I'll fucking marry you _ten times_ if I have to." Anything to stop this insanity.

Otabek just laughs, the bastard, but Yuri can totally tell he's considering it when Max comes back and says, "Babe, they only had bananas left. Can I suck your straw instead?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Max is actually a nice guy and a good PT! Otabek did get harder under his care in various exciting and interesting ways. It's just that poor Max is also kind of oblivious...


	3. the stand-up comic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This Anton Whatever makes it sound like Yuri's too stupid to understand stand-up comedy which, yeah, fuck him. Yuri kind of hopes it was a moronic slip of a tongue because Otabek seems to really like the guy.

"I'm just starting out," Anton Whatever says and shrugs. "Figuring out my style and all that. It's a bit complicated, you probably wouldn't understand."

"Yeah?" Yuri says, leaning back on his chair. "Try me."

He can almost feel the instinctual _fuck you_ at the back of his throat. He hasn't wasted a single thought for stand-up comedy before this since there's never been any reason to. This Anton Whatever makes it sound like Yuri's too stupid to understand it which, yeah, fuck him. Yuri kind of hopes it was a moronic slip of a tongue because Otabek seems to really like the guy. He hasn't dragged Yuri to open mic nights before this.

Yuri's mind starts wandering after the first two minutes of Anton Whatever's explanation, and he lets his eyes do the same. It's a nice club for what it is. Low lightning, dark corners, round tables and a stage and a mic. It's the kind of place where you meet antonwhatevers to discuss the meaning of life while some pathetic try-hard recites his angst oozing poems in the background.

Not something Yuri would've thought Otabek likes, but he's not too surprised either. He's seen Otabek's bookshelves and the piles of poetry almost rival Victor's collection of trashy romances.

"-my life," Anton Whatever says just as Otabek returns with a tray. "Oh, thank you so much!"

It's just a glass of water but Anton Whatever stares at Otabek like Otabek gave him the moon and stars. It's fucking embarrassing to witness, but Yuri grudgingly admits to himself that it could maybe be the way Otabek should be stared at by his antonwhatevers. It's just logical considering the way Otabek almost smiles at Anton Whatever.

"You're welcome," Otabek finally says when he's done with the sappy eye-fucking and remembers that other people exist too.

Namely Yuri who's still waiting for his drink.

"Sorry." Otabek doesn't sounds sorry at all and the drink he hands over is so not Sex on the Beach. "There's just beer and wine, and I know you hate wine. It's the house brand and I don't know what it's like, so just hope for the best."

"It's actually pretty good," Anton Whatever says. He takes a sip from his glass and continues enthusiastically, "I heard it's a family recipe and they brew it in the mountains. The secret ingredient is the moonlight shining on it on full moon. Explains a lot, really. It tastes like unicorn tears!"

It's moments like these when Yuri almost believes in shit like destiny and soulmates. It's like he was born to sit here next to Otabek, both of them staring at Anton Whatever and then turning to stare at each other in perfect unison.

 _What the fuck_ , Yuri says without moving a muscle.

 _Wish I fucking knew_ , the twitch of Otabek's left eye replies.

 _I'll get you the hell out of this_ , Yuri's tightening jaw promises.

They turn back to Anton Whatever who's looking at them with a small, happy smile on his face.

Then he cracks up.

"Oh my god, you guys are the _cutest_ ," he says eventually, wiping his eyes. Then he takes Otabek's hand in his and kisses his knuckles. "Sorry, I just couldn't resist. I promise I don't actually believe in unicorns."

Yuri kind of feels like he needs a comforting kiss too right now, but no one's volunteering to plant one on him. He has to give it to Anton Whatever though. Otabek's lips twitch and then he's laughing too, and Yuri's almost forgotten what that sounds like.

"Are we good?" Anton Whatever is looking at Yuri, eyebrows raised. He's still holding Otabek's hand.

Yuri rolls his eyes and tastes the beer. It's not completely disgusting. "We're good."

"Great." Anton Whatever nods and gets up. He throws his scarf over his shoulder like a great diva. One of these days Yuri's going to skate in a costume that allows him to do just that, and it'll be fucking awesome. "It's my turn next so. Wish me luck?"

"Good luck," Yuri and Otabek chorus, and Anton Whatever grins in his way to the stage.

"So why the fuck is it Anton Whatever?" Yuri asks when the guy is out of earshot. That's how he'd introduced himself and Yuri had bitten his tongue to keep from saying _whatever_.

Otabek shrugs. "I've never asked. Hipster irony on stage? His last name is actually Iliashenko."

"Whatever," Yuri says and for the second time that night, Otabek laughs out loud.

Anton Whatever gets on the stage and sits on the stupid high stool in the middle of it. Then he starts talking.

Yuri can stand listening to him exactly five minutes. He fucking checks the clock on the wall. Maybe Anton Fuckface is good at this, who the fuck knows. Not Yuri who's struggling against the burning need to bash his head in with the mic he's holding. Yuri also wants the name and address of every asshole who laughs at the jokes. Maybe he could break their fucking windows or something.

"Your keys," he says to Otabek, gripping his glass so tightly it's a miracle it doesn't break. "Give me your fucking keys, I'm out of here."

Otabek gives him the keys, both for his bike and his home. He also grabs Yuri's wrist. "Yura, I didn't know. This isn't the set I've seen."

He looks earnest and serious and not amused at all, and Yuri would believe him anyway. Otabek isn't a sick bastard who'd take him to listen to vile cat jokes for fun. He's not like Anton Fuckface who fucking better to stay the hell away from Yuri from now on, no matter how many times he's made Otabek laugh before this.

"Yeah, I figured." Yuri squeezes Otabek's hand for a second. Then he pushes his chair away from the table and grabs his helmet. "Call me if you want me to pick you up later."

Preferably after he's broken up with that cat-hating bastard.


	4. the saxophonist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The paranoid saxophonist, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuri is wearing these super awesome [Gucci Angry Cat gloves](https://www.farfetch.com/uk/shopping/men/gucci-angry-cat-gloves-item-12234587.aspx?storeid=10952&from=listing) in this chapter.

Yuri is late as fuck but he'll be damned if he'll let his embarrassment show in front of whoever this guy is. Danny? Darius? David? Yuri should probably get better at keeping count of the boytoys Otabek forces him to meet. 

At least he's pretty sure this _is_ one of Otabek's because he's the only one in the café right now, sitting in their favorite booth.

"You're-" Dimitri? Denzel? Anything is better than admitting he hadn't listened to Otabek, so Yuri settles for "-on my seat."

"Oh, sorry!" D-dude scrambles to get up from the window seat and comes eye to eye with Yuri. They're about the same height which is rare for Otabek's squeezes. Usually he's into shorter guys.

Yuri takes in the glasses and the beard and the black case decorated with stickers. D-dude plays an instrument. If only Yuri could remember what the fuck it is.

"Um, you're Yuri Plisetsky, right?" D-dude offers his hand. 

Yuri stares at it, considering.

It's sticky with whatever admittedly divine smelling pastry D-dude was eating, and Yuri's wearing his favorite Gucci gloves. His _only_ Gucci gloves and he'd rather break D-dude's fingers than let him ruin them. Yuri can't count on another advertising campaign that comes with badass gifts like this.

Eventually D-dude gets the hint and steps back, letting Yuri slide into his place. The seat has the best view to the dog park across the street and while Yuri's not a dog person, watching them is better than staring at the wall or D-dude's face.

"Okay, um, Beka said he'd be late so," D-dude says and reaches over for his pastry and coffee. "You could eat something too?"

"No." Yuri takes off his gloves and loosens the noose around his neck. The suit is black and boring, but he got paid to wear it and then he got to keep it. He's not going to spill anything on it before the next banquet. "But I'll take a cup of tea."

The steaming cup seems to materialize out of thin air and when Yuri looks up, it's That Moron. Why is it always her shift when Yuri's wearing expensive shit?

"It's on the house, sir!" As if Yuri doesn't know it. From the look on her face, she too remembers every painful detail of the incident that made sure Yuri gets free food whenever he's here. "Please tell me if you need anything else!"

"Unlikely." She'd just spill it on his lap again, Yuri can feel it in his fucking bones. The further away she stays, the safer Yuri and his dick are. "Get lost."

She does, and D-dude's gaze lingers on her back. 

...Wait, is he staring at her _ass_? Yuri grits his teeth. The fucking nerve. 

"Hey." D-dude's eyes snap back to Yuri and no one looks that nervous if he's not caught doing something forbidden. Hand in a cookie jar, eyes on That Moron's ass. Yuri's grip on his teacup tightens and his eyes narrow. "In Russia, we value loyalty. Faithfulness. Not fucking around behind anyone's back. Got it?"

"Yes." D-dude swallows. Hopefully his gross horny thoughts because Yuri's not ready for Otabek's Epic Breakdown: Take Two, especially with the 4CC so close. If D-dude makes Otabek lose his place on the podium, Yuri will personally hunt him down and shave his stupid beard off.

"Good." Yuri checks his phone. No messages. "Did Beka say when he'd be here?"

D-dude startles and the pastry falls onto his lap. Maybe it's not just Yuri or That Moron. Maybe the whole café is cursed and everyone crossing the threshold is doomed to get their orders all over themselves. D-dude gets up and makes a valiant attempt at cleaning himself up, but the grease stain on his crotch is there to stay. Yuri would maybe be sympathetic if the stain didn't look a lot like a clown's face.

"Shit. At least these were-" D-dude looks up from his crotch clown and his mouth snaps shut. Yuri tries to rein in the grin twisting his lips. He's not a total jerk, okay. He only laughs at the misery of the people he knows and hates. D-dude slumps on his seat. "I'm sorry, he said twenty minutes at tops?"

Right. Yuri can make small talk for ten minutes. His eyes fall back on D-dude's case. "Beka said you play a trumpet."

"A saxophone." God damn it, not even close. D-dude's eyes widen. "Which is almost the same thing! You probably can't tell the difference if you're not a professional."

Okay, Yuri will give him points for trying to save Yuri's face. Not that he needs it, but still. Yuri's lucky if he can tell a tuba from a piano so who knows, maybe D-dude isn't even lying. 

Did Otabek say something about a band? 

"You play in a band, right?"

"Um, yes, and I study too." D-dude fiddles with his napkin. "We have gigs on weekends, mostly at Stage & Beauty. It's a club, it's not far from here."

The name rings a bell somewhere in Yuri's mind and when a small dog catches a ball in the park, it clicks.

"I know that. Beka used to date this stand-up comic who performed there. He turned out to be a real asshole." Fucking Anton Cat-hater. The last Yuri heard of him, he'd been bitten by a stray dog. The memory still warms Yuri's heart and makes him smile. "That bastard sure got what was coming for him."

D-dude's mouth drops open and color drains from his face. Wussy. Yuri didn't even tell him the gory details.

Yuri sips his tea and lets his eyes wander from D-dude to the park and then to D-dude's saxophone case. "Are those movie stickers?"

"Yes, it's, um, it's a hobby." The stickers are black and white, and D-dude trails a shaking finger on the biggest one. "This is-"

"From The Godfather," Yuri interrupts. He's heard that quote so many times at home, spoken in Grandpa's overly dramatic tone. Suddenly Yuri misses him and their movie nights so much it's like a physical hurt in his chest. "I know, it's a classic for a reason. It reminds me of my own family."

Fuck, why's he being so mushy in front of D-dude of all people? Yuri glares at him. "If you tell anyone I said that, you're-"

"I won't!" D-dude grabs the saxophone case like a lifeline, face pale. "I swear. Please believe me!"

"Okay," Yuri says slowly. Then a heavy hand clasps his shoulder, saving him from having to deal with whatever D-dude's problem is. Fucking finally. "You're late."

Otabek sits next to D-dude who latches onto him like a limpet. 

"Traffic," Otabek says and gives Yuri a once-over over D-dude's shaggy hair. "Are you two okay? And what's with the funeral suit?"

"Business meeting." Mostly boring stuff about Yuri maybe appearing at the Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week if it won't clash with his ice shows. He's not allowed to talk about it yet. "Let's talk about something else."

*

Otabek texts him when he's at the airport.

>>What did you do to Daniyar

The what now? Yuri stares at his phone and wrecks his brain.

>>Who

>>Wtf who, you just met

 _Daniyar_. Not Dylan or Donatello or Deniss. Daniyar the boyfriend who'd mostly just stared at Yuri for the rest of the afternoon. Otabek should seriously stop picking up dudes at Stage  & Beauty. Clearly they're all assholes or weirdos.

>>Oh him

>>Yes him  
>>Why does he think you're in the Russian mafia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a fun exercise, imagine this whole thing from Daniyar's mafia film nerd POV! It was kind of a pity that I was stuck with Yuri's POV for this.
> 
> I got Stage & Beauty from this helpful [Hipster Business Name Generator](http://www.hipsterbusiness.name/#1pt89Am). Also, unless google is lying to me, Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Almaty is a real thing that happens in April (or at least happened).


	5. the accountant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out of all the Otabek's boytoys Yuri has met, John Smith the future accountant is almost normal. So normal that he's probably hiding a body in his backyard.

Out of all the Otabek's boytoys Yuri has met, John Smith the future accountant is almost normal. So normal that he's probably hiding a body in his backyard.

Yuri narrows his eyes behind his sunglasses. "Leaving already?"

John Smith's teeth are a bit crooked when he smiles and Yuri isn't totally shallow, okay. He can't take points off for that.

"Yeah, sorry," John Smith says and gets up from the picnic blanket. "I promised to go rock-climbing with a few friends."

Yuri can take points off for that because only an insane man would voluntarily exercise instead of enjoying the sunny day in the park. They're in a nice shadowy spot under a huge tree and Yuri's wearing his sunglasses mostly for show. They're Gucci, a birthday present from Victor and Yuuri, and Yuri likes to wear cool, expensive shit where people can see him.

"Don't break your neck," Otabek says and smiles. He's lying on the blanket and he reaches out to touch John Smith's hairy ankle.

"I won't, I've already bought a ticket back to London and it's not refundable," John Smith laughs. His Russian is heavily accented and he's a moron who doesn't see how Otabek's smile dims. Bastard. Minus all the fucking points. "See you later!"

John Smith jogs across the lawn like a stupid looking dog and when he's definitely out of the earshot, Yuri turns to Otabek.

"London?"

"He's an exchange student." Otabek's eyes are closed but his face tells a whole fucking novel of his feelings on the subject. "He's leaving in two weeks."

"And he's not coming back," Yuri says, like it isn't painfully obvious.

"No." Otabek sighs and opens his eyes. He looks resigned and unhappy, and Yuri wonders how long Otabek has been hiding this from him and how the fuck he managed to do that. Apparently there's more than one moron in this picture. "It's fine, it's not like it's a surprise. I always knew he was going to leave."

Clearly it's not fine. Technically it's also none of Yuri's business, but fuck that. Otabek will tell him to piss off if he's too obnoxious.

"And he hasn't changed his mind about it?"

"No. He has a job lined up in London." Of course he has. Shit. Yuri knows what Otabek is going to say even before he does it. "And before you ask, no, I'm not going to ask him to give that up for a fling in Almaty."

"It's not just a fling for you though." As far as Yuri's concerned, that's the most important thing here. Who cares about what John Smith wants. "I'm not stupid, I can tell, so talk."

Otabek stares at the branches above them and frowns. "It was supposed to be a fling. It's not his fault I caught actual feelings."

"What, you've been pining for him for how long and he hasn't even noticed? Fucking idiot." Yuri's not sure who the biggest idiot is. It's a close call.

"You can't tell him," Otabek says firmly. He turns his head so that Yuri can see his face and he's dead serious, like he's about to skate at the Olympics again. "Promise me."

"I wouldn't, okay, you don't even have to ask." As if Yuri would talk to John Smith ever again except maybe to shout at him. "Why did you keep doing him, then?"

As far as Yuri knows, Otabek's modus operandi has always been quick and direct. Plainly stated offers you either refuse or accept. Yuri's never thought that Otabek could be enough of an emotional masochist to actually pine for something he can't have. It feels strangely out of character.

"I don't know." Yuri raises his eyebrows and Otabek rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay, I knew it was stupid but I just- Sometimes it felt like we were going somewhere with it, you know? I wanted that."

"Going somewhere?"

Otabek sighs. "That feeling, yeah. I'm not Victor or Katsuki. I can't keep skating as long as they did. I got a year, maybe two in me if I don't break or sprain something too badly."

"Beka-"

"Shut up, you know it's true."

Yuri's mouth snaps shut. He wants to argue, but Otabek's tone doesn't exactly invite discussion.

"Anyway," Otabek continues and looks kind of embarrassed, "I want to coach, I know that, but I want everything else too. A house and a husband and a cat and kids. The whole thing."

Yuri hasn't put much thought into life after competitive skating. He doesn't feel like quitting yet, not when he can still win. It's as easy as ever to go to the rink and put his skates on, but he's never asked if Otabek still feels the same. Maybe he doesn't. Maybe Yuri is a worse friend than he's thought for not fucking asking a simple thing like that.

"Okay," he says slowly, trying to wrap his mind around the totally bizarre mental image of Otabek the responsible dad. "And that's the guy you want it with?"

"He's leaving, so no. But sometimes it almost felt like I _could_ get that with him." Otabek raises his arm and spreads his fingers. Then he closes them into a fist as if he's caught something. "I know it was stupid to cling onto that. I could've spent all that time looking for someone who'd stay, but I just couldn't give it up. You can laugh, I know it's fucking ridiculous."

It is stupid and ridiculous, but Yuri doesn't feel like laughing. He brings his legs up and wraps his arms around them, chin on his bony knees. Otabek's dream is a nauseating domestic bliss, but the longer Yuri thinks about it, the more it fits. He can actually see Otabek the responsible dad who helps his snotty kids with homework and reads sappy poetry to his husband. He'd be a really cool dad too. Yuri's brain refuses to even consider a future where Otabek quits DJing and sells his bike.

"I'm not laughing." 

He thinks he gets it, kind of, why Otabek didn't want to let go of that idiot accountant if the guy offered him glimpses of that.

"I guess not. Thanks." Otabek gets up too and then they're just sitting there, pensively staring into nothingness. "I keep hoping that I'll find that guy before I retire. It's a nice thought anyway, to start something new with someone by my side."

Yuri snorts. "You should stop dating idiots then."

"Yeah," Otabek grins and shakes his head. "But they weren't all idiots and I wasn't always looking for something serious. It just feels like now's the time. I think I'm getting old."

"You're twenty-five, that's not old."

Older, maybe. An grown-ass adult, definitely, which is maybe the whole point. Yuri knows enough people who were parents or married or both at that age. At _his_ age, even. Is he the weird one for not having any concrete plans yet?

"I can't believe you got me thinking about white picket fences," he says bitterly and takes off his sunglasses, squinting at the sudden light. "Fuck you."

"So sorry about your mental anguish," Otabek says, not sounding sorry at all. He stretches his back and gets up, looking at the clouds gathering in the sky. "Come on, it's going to rain soon. We can get into Stage & Be-"

"Absolutely not," Yuri interrupts, horrified. What Otabek sees in that hellhole is a mystery for the ages. "You just agreed to stop picking up idiots and that place is crawling with them."

"Including us?"

" _Excluding_ us, obviously." Yuri rolls off the blanket and tugs at it. "Move. And see if there's anything decent in the theaters or opera and if we can get tickets. We're upgrading your hunting grounds."


End file.
